


Please, Let Me

by GoodOldBaz



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friendship love, Gen, holmes doesn’t know how to handle his feels, holmes has emotions, toby makes an appearance, watson comforts holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:01:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodOldBaz/pseuds/GoodOldBaz
Summary: Written for a prompt I received1. Making room to sit2. A comforting smileAnd 3. A hug





	Please, Let Me

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt I received  
> 1\. Making room to sit  
> 2\. A comforting smile  
> And 3. A hug

There was an uncomfortable silence as I looked down at Holmes, sprawled out in the train compartment. He didn’t seem to mind there were two nuns sitting opposite him. His eyes were heavy, his hands folded over his stomach, and his knees spread.  
“Holmes,” I hissed. He looked up at me, unmoving. “Would you mind,” I continued. “There’s no other space on the train.”  
He made a face, but shifted to make just enough space for me to sit. I glanced sheepishly at the nuns, who looked at my friends undignified position with some disdain.  
“So sorry,” I said, “I must apologize on my friends behalf. It’s been a difficult day.”  
They nodded graciously, and Holmes lit a cigarette.  
“Bollocks,” he huffed.  
I paled in alarm. The poor nuns looked rather shocked. I raised my hand to my face, rubbing my eyes. This was going to be an interesting ride. All day Holmes had been in a foul mood. Despite my prodding, he would not tell me why. I had eventually given up asking, and how had taken on the role of doing my best to keep his black mood from getting him into trouble, or seriously offending others. In this particular case I fear I failed at the latter. When, at the train's next stop, the nuns departed, I moved to the opposite side of the compartment so to let Holmes take up as much room as he wished.  
"I do wish," I said, "That you would curb yourself when others are around at least. I know you really mean to harm but I believe those nuns were quite scandalized."  
He huffed, but said nothing  
I shook my head, deciding that leaving him alone would be my safest course of action.  
When we finally arrived home, Holmes went straight to his room, ignoring my pleas that he have some dinner before retiring. I puttered about the house, feeling ill at ease and somewhat lonely, until Mrs Hudson came up with my on dinner. I ate quietly, and after reading the days newspaper, went to bed early.  
I awoke the next morning to the sound of something crashing. I sat up in bed, still in that odd semi awake stage where one cannot tell whether one is really quite awake or not. I sat very still, listening, wondering if what I'd heard had been real or a dream. I was just thinking of laying back down, when I heard the door to our rooms slam shut. I wondered if something was wrong, and decided to get up. I slipped on my dressing gown and moved to the sitting room. My mouth opened in surprise. Papers were strewn about, there were books half knocked off one of the shelves, and by the table a teacup had been knocked down and shattered. A gasp escaped my lips. It looked as if the place had been ransacked. I'd just prepared myself to call for Mrs Hudson, when the door to our rooms was pushed open.  
“Doctor Watson,” came a voice, familiar yet foreign at the same time.  
“Come in,” I said, not getting a full glance at the man in the dark hallway.  
To my surprise, at my words entered the large form of Mycroft Holmes, my friend’s brother.  
“Mr. Holmes,” I remarked, trying to remain composed. “What on earth are you doing here?”  
He did not respond, but only walked further into the room, looking about.  
“I’m afraid I have no idea what happened here,” I said, “I just awoke and found it this way.”  
“Worse than I feared,” he mused, picking up an all but empty decanter and glass on the sideboard. I couldn’t help but think that the decanter had been mostly full the day before.  
“My brother, where is he?” he asked.  
“In bed I suppose,” I replied. “Though I can’t imagine that this ruckus did not wake him.”  
Mycroft brushed past me, heading towards Holmes’ room. I waited, hearing an exclamation slip from Mycroft’s lips that made my heart sink to my stomach.  
“Gone,” he frowned, returning to the sitting room.  
“Please,” I said hesitantly, “Will you tell me what is going on? Holmes has been in a black mood all weekend. I’ve seen him low, but...you don’t think he did all this?” I waved a hand about the room.  
“No question,” Mycroft replied. “I’ve seen him do it before. As a child he never knew how to control his emotions. Once as a boy he took our Aunt’s finest China cow creamer and threw it across the room.”  
I gasped. “Why on earth?”  
Mycroft made himself comfortable in Holmes’ armchair. “A young cousin of ours, a girl about his age with whom he was very close, died of pneumonia. He knew no other way to express himself, I suppose.”  
I felt my stomach churn. I had no idea my friend felt things so deeply. I’m sure he never would have admitted it to me.  
“But what has caused this?” I asked. “He’s not mentioned anything to me.”  
“He wouldn’t,” Mycroft sighed. “Bottles everything up till it bursts. I’ve always told him it wasn’t healthy. It’s our mother, you see, she passed on Friday.”  
“Oh dear lord,” I said, my hand at my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”  
Mycroft groaned and stood from the chair. “I knew it was coming for some time. She was no young woman.” He moved towards the door. “I suppose I ought to go out and find Sherlock before he hurts himself.”  
“Please,” I said, taking a step towards the big man. “Let me.”  
He looked at me with surprise. “Are you sure?”  
I nodded. “Quite sure.”  
“Alright then,” he said with a purse of his lips. “I won’t argue. I’ve been up all night worrying about the boy, I need a good breakfast.”  
And with that, he left the apartment. I returned to my room and dressed, feeling ill at ease. I was not sure where I should look for Holmes. I only hoped I would find him well and unhurt, and that he might be willing to talk with me about what was going on in his head. I was a medical doctor, yes, but I liked to think my understanding of the human body helped me understand the human mind and heart as well.  
Within a short time, I was on the street, the morning mist only just beginning to clear. I wandered this way and that, and without even realizing it I had ended up near the docks. I doubted he would be here, but I made an effort to weave in and out of the groups of fishermen bringing in their nightly catches, perchance that he might be there. I had found my way to a quieter, more lonely section of the beach, when I heard a whimper and a bark, and turned to see old Toby the dog bounding towards me.  
“Hello, old boy,” I smiled, scratching him behind the ear. “Where’s your master, eh?” I asked. I looked up and around, and saw a tall, thin figure walking towards me in the mist.  
“Watson, what on earth are you doing here?” came the voice of my friend.  
“Good lord, Holmes!” I exclaimed. “I’ve been looking for you but, what are you doing here with Toby?”  
“His master lets me walk him now and then,” Holmes said carefully. He knew I had seen the state of the house and even in the fog I could see him blush.  
“I’m very glad you’re alright,” I said. “We were worried about you.”  
“We?” He asked weakly.  
“Mycroft and I. He stopped by earlier this morning.”  
Holmes turned his back on me. “Oh,” he said sharply. “Well I would have preferred you left me alone.”  
“Leaving you alone,” I said firmly, “is what turned our sitting room into a disaster. You’ll have to pay Mrs Hudson for that teacup, you know.”  
“Bugger off,” he hissed. “Come on, Toby.”  
And with that he began to walk away.  
“Mycroft told me what happened,” I called after him. He stopped dead in his tracks. “I don’t think you should be alone.”  
He did not turn, but I saw him bring his hand to his face, bowing his head. I walked up behind him, placing my hand gently on his shoulder.  
“My dear Holmes,” he said softly. He quivered slightly. Gently, carefully, softly, I turned him to face me. He did not protest, fairly limp under my strong hands.  
“I’m such a fool,” he gasped, staring at the sandy ground.  
“Don’t be absurd,” I said, giving him a comforting smile. He shook his head, covering his face with his hands. I cannot say what prompted it, but I took his shoulders in my hands and pulled him into an embrace. He did not move, but buried his face in my shoulder.  
I cannot tell you how long we stayed thus. It could have been a minute, it could have been a year. At some point, we found ourselves walking along the beach with Toby, arm in arm. He did not speak, and so neither did I.


End file.
